Page 39 of Undercover Star
"I know, but it's hard to wrap my head around. Who owns actual islands?"
"A lot of people. Scotland isn't short of them. And, do you know? At low water, the island is a lot bigger than it is right now, but all the land below the tide line? That belongs to Her Majesty the Queen."
"Why?"
"Because that's the way it is."
"How do you know this?"
"It was a clause in the contract when I bought it. Made me smile, which is why I remembered it. Not many people can say they have the Queen for a neighbour."
Not many people could say they owned an island, either. Or that they'd shared a shower with a star, but Josh was too comfortable warming up to start an argument.
––––––––
DINNER WAS AN ENORMOUSdish of Shepherd's Pie. The delicious smell of it cooking wafted from the kitchen and Josh's stomach growled in happy anticipation. "If this tastes even half as good as it smells, I'm gonna die and go to heaven."
"It's better, actually. And my guests don't have to offer their lives to pay for dinner."
"Get a lot of them?" Josh wanted to take the words back as soon as they'd left his mouth. Fortunately, Matisse barely blinked.
"Not many," he said as he took plates from a cupboard and cutlery from a drawer. "My family, a few old school friends. Most of the time, I'm here by myself. My hours are too erratic to plan much ahead. And having time to myself is a luxury."
Ever since they'd left the shower, Matisse had been drawing back, almost as if he regretted joining Josh under the hot water, or even bringing him here. The withdrawal was subtle, but Josh felt it like a blast of cold air coming on the heels of the closeness of the last twenty-four hours. Had it really only been yesterday evening when they'd shared Moo Ping and green curry at Matisse's dining table? The dread and despondency Josh had felt then were gone now. The looming dead end had turned into an arrest that had McKinnoch in Glasgow liaising with Montgomery in London. The case was moving again, all due to Matisse, and Josh didn't want to lose the gossamer accord they were weaving between them.
"Why are your hours so erratic?" he asked while they laid the table. "I'm not being facetious. I've seen you rehearse, I've seen you do the interview, and I've seen you at the gala. But I don't really know what's involved in doing what you do."
"Yeah, well. I didn't think you'd spend your days sitting outside someone's house, waiting for them to turn up. It seems so... I dunno... last century?"
Josh took the wine glasses Matisse held out to him. "I know. And yes, we have plenty of tech these days, but real police work is just as important today as it was back when. More so, perhaps. Electronic surveillance can do so much, but you can't ever underestimate what neighbours see and know. You can learn to avoid cameras. It's difficult to avoid the little old lady across the road."
"Do you think the thief will tell you who the buyer is?"
The question startled Josh from his growing contentment. For the first time in four years he'd been too focused on what was happening right in front of him to worry about the man who'd stabbed Paul. Shame washed over him, doubled with the knowledge that he'd used Matisse's help to get into Kilbride House to spring his trap, and that he had offered little more than a token thank you in exchange. It had been Matisse who'd contacted him, Matisse who'd offered help when Josh was stuck, Matisse who'd gotten them to Scotland, who'd helped him chase down the thief and retrieve the locket. Josh hadn't known what was in the packet he'd jumped into the sea to rescue. Not until McKinnoch had mailed a photo to his phone. And he'd not even told Matisse yet.
"Do you recognise any of these items?" He pulled up the photos McKinnoch had sent and held the phone out to Matisse.
Matisse scrolled through them one by one. "Only the locket. That's the one from Kilbride House. Right?"
"We think so. McKinnoch is having it authenticated as we speak. He sent these as I got dressed. And how do you even have a signal out here?"
"Lighthouse."
Again that subtle withdrawal, but Josh wasn't going to let Matisse pull away. He held on to Matisse's hand as he tried to give the phone back, drew him close and wrapped one arm around his waist. The locket winked from the screen of his phone, the green stone at its heart almost mocking. "He was clearly trying to deliver the locket. We just have to persuade him to part with a name."
"Could the collector have been on the other boat?"
"Maybe. The Coast Guard and McKinnoch are working that angle. I don't know a thing about boats. Remember?"
"And when you know who the buyer is you go back to the Italian police and get him arrested for murder?"
"That's the idea. If he's Italian, they can issue the warrant themselves. If he's not, then they may have to apply for extradition, or liaise with the police where he lives and—"
"I'm starting to understand why these things take years to resolve." Matisse slipped from his hold and went to check on their dinner. "And why you looked as you did last night."
"How did I look last night?"
"Defeated." The word came quietly, little more than a breath, and Josh's heart clenched. That's exactly how he'd felt after four years of trying and failing, trying again and failing once more. He'd been as close to throwing in the towel as he'd ever been, and he'd felt like the worst friend ever. Matisse had seen it, and had immediately offered to help.
